Hi everyone,

Sorry that it has taken so long in writing this.  I have been so busy with everything going on and having computer troubles and everything.  But do not fear.  I am working on another story which will come out after I finish CMAR which is almost finished in the annals of my mind.  Just need to get it into a computer.  So, don't worry my compadres.  These will be finished. 

As for this chapter, it is a little deep, I guess.  Well, okay.  It is really deep.  And it gets worse. I told you this story is different from my others, and since number one it is longer than the others but other than that it is also more real than the others.  It offers a perspective that no one has ever really crossed here.  Kagome: as a real life woman today in America.  Something to think about, I guess.  And with Kagome being this real woman she also has real feelings and problems.  Like the rest of us.

So sit back and enjoy.  I hope it pulls on your heartstrings a bit.  After all…that is what it's meant to do…

Read and enjoy-

-MC

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4/17/01

2:20 p.m.

We are on the threshold of the most wonderful things.  We are about to embark on the journey that is a part of our life—a journey that will take us to where we are supposed to be.  In all honesty, I am completely terrified.  I am terrified of what will happen, who I shall meet, who I shall fall in love with, who I shall forget and who I shall remember and most of all, I am afraid of loosing myself to someone I am not.  But I suppose that these are all, very real and very common fears when we must begin to live our lives as adults.  But most of all, I realize that we don't have the answers to these questions.  In fact we may never have the answers to these questions.  Which is something that perhaps is the best to realize.  I know that I have always wanted the answers to every question, know every puzzle and just be amazed of the knowledge that I would amass.  But then where is the mystery, the intrigue, the wonderful feeling of experiencing something in your own time, your own place and on your own journey?  If you know everything than what is the joy of living?  How will you conduct your life? 

So, here is to not knowing these answers and not knowing them in pride.  Here is to the life we have to the life ahead of us and everything that we must endure.

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It was one of those moments that you really don't know what to do or say with what life has given you.  It was a time when I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or stay.  I wasn't sure what I should do exactly, when I found myself in the position between habitation and department, the road you have chosen and another fork in the road.  What finally made me decide to react was the cold hard truth that what I believed drove me inexplicably towards it—I had to understand what drove him to come to my home, to seduce me with his kisses, to do what he did with me last night on the couch and on the floor and in the hall and in the bathtub and eventually, where we ended up; on the kitchen table.  Even though when I awoke we seemed to do it all over again, I simply did not understand it.  Why would a man such as he, a man who loves another woman, a man who is unbelievably gorgeous, a man who is so many things that is never attracted to a woman such as myself, why is this man sitting on my couch, his white hair thrown over the couch, seeming to be everywhere at once, and staring at me with that lustful look in his eyes, even as I sit here before him quite naked?  I want to be drowned in the lustful glow his eyes receive when he looks at me.  I want to bask in the glory of our consummated (many times over) mutual need to be with someone else. 

And that is it, isn't it?  That is the absolute bottom line and perhaps the reason, as we begin anew (does this man ever rest?) that I cannot leave but I cannot simply discover the reason.  I don't want to know the reason.  I don't want to discover, while he is kissing my neck, that I am just a fling, and that this person who shares a common bond with me will be lost to awkwardness later.  And perhaps part of me wishes that he feels the same way, that he wants to loose himself in someone so desperately that just about any human contact is the deepest comfort, a reason to get up each morning. 

And I won't delusion myself to the fact that he loves me or that I love him or that this is going to be a fairytale ending.  For once in my life I don't want to know the outcome, I want to be left in the dark.  

He left my house after he received an urgent call from work and he left me to my own devices.  Strangely, as he left, kissing me goodbye, I did not feel used or disgusted with myself.  I felt comforted, protected, if you will.  Whatever he had to leave for, I was certain that he would be coming back. 

And after that realization I didn't really think about it much.  I had so much to do, especially since I didn't have work to bog down my every thought.  Even though it was slinking in the back of my mind.  I suppose that was the problem with work in general.  You could go on vacation, you can get away but you can never truly forget that little piece of work that you left for after that supposed vacation.  And then while you are on that "vacation" all you can think about is that work that you didn't finish and it totally detracts from your relaxation! 

Goodness.  I need to call someone.  Or talk to someone.  Hmm…

As it turned out, no one was home except Miroku.  So, alas, I am to spend a lunch with him.  Even though he is one of my closest friends, I try not to associate with him on an alone level as much as possible, just to avoid potential messy situations. 

He took me to some little hovel in the wall that is an expert in delicious food for cheap prices.  Sadly, they are also an expert in attracting minimal audiences.  Too bad.  This curry was some of the best I have ever had, excepting at Tina's mother's house.  (An old friend).  She makes the best curry ever. 

"So, whats up?"  Uhh…sweat drop.  Should I be honest?

"I just wanted to see you."  Ah, flattery gets me anywhere.

"Don't lie, Kag.  Whats up."  Apparently not.

"Nothing, I just wanted some company.  I guess I am feeling a little lonely with Inu gone and all."  Now, that's the truth.

"And…"

"AND I needed someone to distract me from work."

"Now there is an answer that I can believe.  You were making me nervous.  I thought you had some amazing one night stand with some gorgeous man and you had to tell me to rub it in." 

"Rub what in?"

"That some gorgeous guy wants you."  What is that supposed to mean?

"Miroku, I really don't appreciate it when you beat around the bush like this.  I just wanted to eat lunch."

"I know.  Well, now that you are here, I wanted to tell you some news."  Oh, this could be good…"Hiten is back in town." 

You know that moment in the movies when some guy tells a woman the news that she is pregnant, or that he met someone else, or just something extraordinary?  The moment when the dainty salad the said woman had been eating slowly, freeze frame almost, the fork clatters to the plate while an expression of surprise graces her pretty face?  Well, I'm sure that my expression resembled some startled rabbit about to be shot by a hunter or something and I wasn't eating a dainty salad and a giant piece of curry chicken graced my fork instead of a solitary piece of lettuce (mixed greens, mind you) but still, I had one of those moments.  Clattering fork aside, I was in shock. My heart actually started to beat a little faster at the mere mention of his name.  Dear God.  Hiten.  My wonderful, beautiful, unattainable Hiten.  The man who I dreamed of loving for the rest of my life in high school.  Where Inuyasha was unrequited love at first site, Hiten was all heterosexual male.  Even though I knew he would never like me, I still held some notion that he would, could, possibly might be able to look my way eventually.  At least he liked girls…

2/7/00

4:36 p.m.

She is Like Me

Her face is round and kind looking, although it's a little pale

Her words are very funny, which will never fail

She has a voice that is low and friendly

And her mother thinks she is very trendy

Her teachers think she has great respect

And she thinks she is a good person in most aspects

Her family thinks she is quite sweet

And her friends think she is the nicest person to meet

Her enemies think she is too outspoken

But strangers think she is a token

She has a mature mind

But also she can be far behind

Her silent crush will probably never fade

But to forget him is a sad trade

She would like to be a success in twenty years

And she is clever about friendships; reveals all her fears

She dreams about art

And she will always remember someone close to her heart

She tries to forget the hard times

But a life of pain is always a flip of the dime

Being hurt makes her want to hide

And she is really very pleasant inside

But she just can decide

Whether or not to show her humorous side

Just brings back high school memories…

"Kagome? Are you alright?"  He was wearing a dove grey dress shirt with black pants.  Something that I supposed he wore to work, whatever that is he did.  Miroku always had this air of mystery to him that made him impeccably interesting.  I guess that was what drew me to him in the first place.  He was a smart man, keeping to himself most of the time.  But I found his advice and outlook on the world completely fascinating and most of the time correct. He spoke with such wisdom and experience, something that could only have come from books since he was so young.  I love men who read books.  He was leaning over the table; unwittingly getting his tie into his food a bit for it was loosened immensely around his neck.  I drew in a shallow breath.  What was wrong with me?

"Kago—"

"You look good."  He instantly drew back from me.  "I…I mean, you look better.  Have you done something different with your hair?"  I drew in another shallow breath.  God, my hands were shaking.  What is going on?  Does this happen just because there was a slight mention of Hiten?  Does he honestly have this much effect over me, after all these years?  "I need to go.  I need to go home now…I'm sorry."  I shakily got to my feet and left the restaurant in a hurry.  Miroku had barely any time to react and he still had to pay the bill for the barely eaten food.  God, I'm stupid.

I called a cab a couple blocks away and silently drove home.  Finally back in my home I collapsed on my bed—still made from the day before.  I hadn't used it the night before.  Obviously.  Tossing and turning, all I could think about were certain random and seemingly unconnected images.

Inu's eyes through his sunglasses when we were having an afternoon at the beach.  He wanted to tan a bit and I thought it would be fun for a little boy watching.  Too bad it was a hot day and all we got were burnt bodies and horrendous tan lines.  Inu's idea to fix that was another afternoon at the tanning booth, but I refused.  He came back looking like a god and I still had my tan lines.  Tan lines that lasted for the rest of the summer…

Sango and the way her face lit up when Kouga brought her flowers in her dorm on her birthday.  He had planned a romantic evening that every girl would swoon over and all Sango did was smile and laugh like she was expecting it.  I would have made love to the guy right there if that happened to me but then again I have always been a hopeless romantic.  Hopeless being the key word.

Miroku's hair as it slid across my shoulder when he withdrew from the closet after our little tryst.  The way it felt, slithering across my exposed skin and how, at the time, it made me shiver uncontrollably.  But it wasn't with lust.  I shivered in disgust at myself for not only hurting him but hurting myself.  How stupid and idiotic I felt for exposing myself for possible hurt and heartache.  How I never wanted it to happen again. 

Sesshomaru's face when he snubbed me that first night at the Kingston house.  How he looked like dirt could be more worthy than I am.  That even after anything I could do, wear the designer clothing, live in the gorgeous house; I would still be an outsider. 

And finally myself, in the mirror, looking at my body, scrutinizing everything that could be wrong with it.  Hurting myself physically and mentally, hating myself.  The look of determination in my eyes.  The absolute knowledge that I wasn't and could never be good enough for anyone, in my eyes.  The subtle destruction that ruled my every move…

8/16/97

1:15 a.m.

But as I grew older, things began to change. My body began to change. Of course in the puberty sense, but as I grew older I began to gain weight as well. I mean, I still had my friends, my parents loved me and life was okay. For a while. When seventh grade rolled around it was time for dances. I cannot tell you how excited I was. I would just imagine myself dancing with cute guys and loving every minute of it. But in reality, it was
torture. At least once every month I would dress myself up; pay five dollars for three hours of being a wallflower. No guys asked me to dance. Which I didn't understand, I mean, I had always been taught that it's what is inside that counts and blah blah blah. And I was a good person, I was a little stubborn at times but it wasn't too bad. I almost laugh at my twelve year old self scrutinizing over my personality for a fault when the real problem was right in front of me, every time I looked in the mirror-my body.
      There is an ideal of beauty that we all carry with us. And I didn't fit that ideal. I asked so many guys to dance only to be brushed off harshly. And don't get me wrong, middle school sucks to begin with, but when you aren't the ideal it can be worse. But trust me, if some fat kid asked my twelve-year-old self to dance the truth is, I probably would have said no. I didn't have my first slow dance with a guy until eighth grade was almost over. And it didn't really count because it was one of my friends.
And soon enough having my friend's loving me for who I was just wasn't good enough anymore. At school kids younger and older than myself teased me. At the end of the seventh grade I fled to the bathroom to get away from these girls who used to be my friends. They would call me names pertaining to my weight. But I think the hardest blow was when the kindergartners adopted the chant of "Tubby, Tubby!" every time I passed by a certain group. Kindergartners.
So that was when that ideal started to rule my life. That was when the ideal of being myself just wasn't good enough. So, at the end of eighth grade I resolved myself to this and had made plans to kill myself. I didn't fit the ideal, so I didn't deserve to live, right? I was still deciding between a kitchen knife or an overdose of Clorox when I decided to confide in my mother. I still had enough sanity in my mind that I could at least reach out for some help. Since we always shared things before this, my mother held me close and told me she loved me. But the ideal had taken root in my system. Her love didn't matter anymore because I wasn't pretty enough. I didn't love myself. I became numb because all that I now cared about was the belief of beauty that we see in beauty magazines.

I still didn't feel comfortable telling my friends about anything.  My best friend Kim was clueless about my suicidal tendencies, and I usually told her everything.  My grammar school friends weren't in the loop either.  And the rocky slope I had with my new friends was even more fragile.  I couldn't tell anyone.  I was alone.

Life.  I had to laugh at it.  Its mysterious plan.  Its uncanny way of making you hurt.  Life.  I scoff at life.  SCOFF! I just…I just…

No passion

No expression

Last place

First race

Can't get out

Can't get out!

Die in peace

Live in hell

Love forever

Never dwell

Be yourself

On the way home

Off in the distance, somewhere, the phone rang.  I didn't have the urge or the will to go and pick it up.  Abstractedly, I heard the message machine pick up.  And through the garbled and quick message I could distinguish one thing. 

"Kagome, come quick, your mother…your mother is in the hospital."

Life.

Can I scoff now?